Let's Do The Pharaoh!

by Jeremy Strong

  Professor Jelly straightened up. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, but first we have to get out. Are you ready for action?’

  Professor Jelly nodded and Seraphina pushed the Black Cherry Bombe across the table with as much noise as possible. ‘I made this especially for you two boys,’ she said loudly

  Petty Officer Fudd spun round at once. ‘Oi! You over there! I told you last time, no cakes for the prisoners.’

  ‘But, Officer,’ protested Seraphina, fluttering her eyelashes, ‘this is simply a Black Cherry Bombe, made with raspberries and cherries and chocolate.’

  ‘Huh! You can dress it up however you want, madam, but you might have put a file in there, or a stick of dynamite, or –’

  ‘I know, you gorgeous man, you said the same thing last time, but I promise you there’s nothing inside except brandy and cream.’

  Petty Officer Fudd was already getting out his truncheon. ‘In that case, madam, you won’t mind if I do this, will you?’ He plunged his truncheon into the centre of the dessert and began to stir wildly.

  Now, to be fair, Seraphina had warned Fudd. She had told him what was inside. It was full of brandy and cream. It was meant to be frozen brandy and cream, of course. But Seraphina had carried it for a long time and, just as she had planned, the cream and brandy were now very unfrozen.

  When Fudd smashed his truncheon through the crisp outer walls of meringue, it was just as if he had smashed through the walls of a dam. Brandy and cream came spurting out in an explosion of white froth, soaking Fudd from the chest down.

  ‘Oh no!’ he cried, stepping back and gazing down at his soaked uniform. A strong smell of brandy wafted across the air. Fudd lifted his nose and sniffed. ‘The Chief mustn’t see me like this. He’ll think I’ve been drinking on duty. Look at the mess!’

  Seraphina was on her feet, whipping out a large handkerchief and mopping down the unfortunate prison officer. ‘Oh dear, oh dear, indeed you are in a mess, but panic not, my little flower, we shall soon have you spick and span. Here, let me help.’ She dabbed away at Fudd’s uniform until she had managed to smear the cream over every bit of it.

  ‘Oh my, it seems to be getting worse,’ she said. ‘Let’s get that jacket off you, and you’ll have to take your trousers off, too.’

  ‘I can’t take my trousers off!’ Fudd protested.

  ‘Don’t be silly, I’m a nurse,’ lied Seraphina. ‘You certainly can’t let the Chief see you wearing them. Come on, take them off, there’s a good boy.’

  As the jacket and trousers came off, Seraphina threw them across to Grimstone, who immediately began putting them on, cream or no cream. Petty Officer Fudd was in such a state he didn’t even notice. He was moaning and groaning and wondering what to do next.

  ‘I have just the thing to stop you fussing,’ said Seraphina cheerfully.

  ‘What’s that?’ moaned Fudd miserably.

  Seraphina plunged a hand into her bag and whipped out a roll of tape. ‘Ta-ra! We put one strip across your mouth – it’s no use struggling, I have a black belt in Tie-U-Up, the ancient art of nobbling people. And a long strip round your wrists and another round your ankles and, oh look! We have a Christmas turkey! Come on, boys, it’s time to go!’

  Grimstone, who now looked like one of the guards, seized Jelly by the scruff of the neck yet again (he was secretly getting pleasure out of that bit) and, with his mother behind him, he marched out of the Visitors’ Room and off down the path to the entrance to the jail.

  At the gate they were stopped by another guard, who demanded to know what they were up to. Grimstone pushed Professor Jelly forwards.

  ‘This fat little rat has spilled cream all over my uniform,’ declared Grimstone. ‘We are off to the dry cleaners so that he can pay for it.’

  ‘And I’m going with them,’ said Seraphina, smiling.

  ‘What a disgusting thing to do,’ bellowed the guard at the gate. ‘Fancy doing that to an officer’s uniform. Go on then, and hurry it up!’

  The gate was opened and the three arch-criminals walked clear. Down the road they went, walking steadily until they reached the corner. They turned the corner. They looked at each other, smiled, and in chorus they yelled, ‘Run for it!’

  5 Walk Like an Egyptian

  The Lightspeed household was in chaos as everyone struggled to get changed in time to make it to the ‘Face of the Future’ competition. Mr Lightspeed got in the way of Carrie. Carrie got in the way of Sennapod. He got in the way of Ben and, to make matters worse, the cats got in the way of everybody.

  ‘I’ve nothing to wear!’ wailed the Pharaoh. ‘Why am I cursed with a house like this? I should be in a palace, with a thousand servants. Where is my robe of silk? Where is my tunic of fine sea-cotton? Where are my golden sandals?’

  ‘Try these!’ Mr Lightspeed answered, chucking across a pair of his own trousers and a check shirt.

  There were a few moments of silence as Sennapod struggled into clothes that he was unused to wearing. At length he appeared in the Lightspeeds’ bedroom and demanded to know if he looked royal enough.

  The Lightspeeds looked at him. They looked at each other. Then they shook their heads and said, ‘No,’ in unison.

  ‘You look silly,’ added Mrs Lightspeed for good measure. ‘Those trousers are for a short, fat person.’

  ‘Thank you,’ murmured her husband. ‘You’re so kind.’

  ‘And you are a tall, thin person and you look silly. You’ll just have to wear your bandages, Senny. They’re in your chest of drawers. They’ve been washed.’

  Sennapod had hardly ever worn his bandages since he had been rescued by the Lightspeeds. Mrs Lightspeed had made him the special robe. The children had made his crown, and he was very proud of both of them, but the crown was crushed and the robe spattered with paint.

  He hurried off to fetch the bandages. They were the same ones he had worn inside his coffin. He was quite used to wearing them, but not at all used to putting them on. Swathing yourself in bandages is much more difficult than getting someone else to do it for you. Sennapod stood on the landing and tried. He tried and tried.

  At his first attempt he tied himself to the stair post. With his second try he bandaged both legs together so that he couldn’t move. At the third go he bent down to do his feet and managed to loop bandages round his

  feet and his head at the same time, leaving him doubled over. For his fourth attempt he simply cried, ‘Help!’ Ben had to sort him out.

  Finally everyone was ready, and off they went.

  Carrie was agog with excitement. Her head was exploding with dreams of stardom, of fame and fortune. She could just picture herself hobnobbing with film stars and pop idols. Her face would be on the front of beauty magazines. She would wear designer clothes every single day. It was going to be brilliant!

  They arrived outside the hall where the competition was taking place. Carrie gulped. Her face turned white. There were girls like her everywhere, dozens of them! They were all there for the competition. Carrie froze.

  Mr Lightspeed slipped an arm round her shoulders. ‘Ignore them, Carrie. They haven’t got what it takes. You go in there and wow those judges. Just be yourself.’

  ‘Yeah,’ nodded Ben. ‘Be yourself, sis. Argue them to death.’

  ‘Leave her be, Ben,’ said Mrs Lightspeed soothingly. ‘I don’t suppose you’d be brave enough to do what Carrie is doing.’

  This was very true, and Ben kept his thoughts to himself after that. However, they were now at the reception desk and the girl behind the counter was looking at Carrie’s entry form.

  ‘Oh yes, number one hundred and thirty-seven – you’re to go to make-up and then to the dressing-room. Next!’ The girl looked up at Sennapod and stared. Her mouth dropped open. Her gaze shifted from Sennapod’s made-up head right down to his bandaged toes.

  ‘Oh wow,’ she breathed. That outfit is just mind-blowing. I love your eyeliner! You are so cool.’

  ‘Hot is the new cool,’ Sennapod s
aid stiffly.

  ‘I know, I know, and you are hot! And so cool! Have you got your entry form?’

  Mr Lightspeed pushed forwards. ‘It’s OK, he’s with us. He’s not taking part.’

  ‘But he must,’ the girl insisted. ‘I mean, he is it.’

  ‘I am not an it,’ declared the Pharaoh. ‘I am He Whose Name Shall Rumble Down The Ages, Lord of Hippos, Master of Worms and All Creeping Things.’

  The girl behind the desk was giggling. ‘Wow!’ she bubbled. ‘You are something!’

  ‘I thought you said I was it,’ Sennapod pointed out. ‘How can I be it if I’m something?’

  The girl wasn’t listening. She had called over a woman dressed in extraordinary clothes. Her hair was dyed red, orange, green, black and purple. It had been backcombed until it seemed her scalp was exploding. She had a thin beak of a nose and a scarlet gash for a mouth. The girl introduced her.

  ‘This is Tamara Salata.’

  Carrie almost died on the spot. ‘Tamara Salata?’ she squeaked. ‘The top fashion designer?’

  ‘Darling, you’re so kind. Yes, I am the top fashion designer and also one of the judges, one of the most important judges – no, the most important judge.’ Tamara studied Sennapod from top to toe. ‘You are the most exotic, gorgeous human being I have ever seen. You are a work of art, monsieur. Your sense of fashion is sublime, exquisite. Your clothes are simply not of this world.’ ‘Too right,’ muttered Ben. ‘They’re bandages from an Ancient Egyptian coffin, you daft bat!’

  ‘Ssssh!’ hissed Mrs Lightspeed, but it didn’t matter because Tamara was far too busy admiring Sennapod anyway. She insisted that he go with her.

  ‘Darling, we must get you into make-up.’

  The Pharaoh perked up. He liked make-up.

  ‘The handmaidens will see to your face and so on.’ Tamara leant towards Sennapod and whispered in his ear, ‘I always call them handmaidens. The whole business of fashion is just so, so decadent, don’t you think? Then it will be straight on to the catwalk. Darling, you are going to be a star!’

  And before the Lightspeeds could register what was happening, both Carrie and Sennapod had been whisked away to be prepared for the ‘Face of the Future’. All they could do was file into the huge hall and take their seats, along with the rest of the audience and the press men and the cameramen and the TV crews.

  The lights went down. The spots came on. A thunderous, pounding wave of music crashed from a hundred speakers and the show began. One after another the would-be models came tripping down the catwalk, wearing incredible costumes that looked as if they had come from outer space.

  ‘Where would you wear something like that?’ Mrs Lightspeed kept asking.

  ‘I wouldn’t,’ said Mr Lightspeed. ‘It’s for ladies. Shall I buy you one?’

  And then Carrie appeared, along with Sennapod. Carrie had been stuck inside what looked like a pair of jeans and a matching denim jacket, except she was also wearing a ballet dancer’s pink tutu round her waist and a miniature version of the same thing on each wrist. As for Sennapod, he hadn’t changed at all. He was trailing his bandages and walking along as if he’d just escaped from some horror film. However, his face was a bit different, because he had been thoroughly made up and his face was now in full, glorious colour.

  As they reached the catwalk the music suddenly changed and the two of them began to dance. It was not the kind of dance that anyone in the audience had seen before, apart from Ben. It was the dance that Sennapod had taught Carrie only a few days earlier.

  They came up the catwalk, bit by bit, slowly twisting their bodies into weird angular shapes, making their heads do that curious pecking movement, and it was mesmerizing. The audience went wild. They began to clap. They cheered. They got to their feet and stamped and whooped and yelled themselves silly.

  This was it! This was something! This was the new hot, cold and lukewarm all at once! Amazing! That costume the man had on

  was breathtaking: so simple, so stark, so… bandagey! Flashbulbs popped. Video cams whirred. Microphones were thrust towards the catwalk.

  Tamara Salata flounced on to the stage and began curtseying and bowing and blowing kisses in every direction.

  ‘Everyone thinks she created Senny’s costume,’ muttered Mrs Lightspeed. ‘It’s only his old bandages. I had to wash those filthy things.’

  She tried to shout out and tell everyone, but the roar of the crowd drowned her. Sennapod was a knockout. He was whisked away to be photographed and interviewed and asked billions of questions, while the Lightspeeds stayed in their seats, feeling more and more fed up, especially Carrie.

  ‘I don’t believe it. Senny’s won the competition,’ she said. ‘How did that happen? He’s not a girl. He didn’t even enter. They wanted a girl and they’ve chosen him. He’s not even handsome. He’s four and a half thousand years old! It’s not fair! It really isn’t!’

  And Carrie was right. It wasn’t fair, but at least it hadn’t been Sennapod’s fault. He didn’t really have any idea what was going on. He was delighted with the handmaidens. He was overwhelmed by the roar of the crowd. It was just like the ancient days, so long ago. The people had liked his dance, and quite right too. It was the Royal Dance of the Pharaoh and they had to like it. If they didn’t, he’d throw them to the crocodiles. All Sennapod needed now was his palace and his bath of asses’ milk, and it would be just like being back in Ancient Egypt. Little did he know that the palace might be arriving sooner than he thought.

  6 Plan Number One

  Seraphina settled down in front of the television and put her tired feet up on a coffee table. She smiled happily. Her son, Grimstone, was back home at last, along with his friend Jelly. They had eaten a lovely supper, and now they wanted to watch the news on telly, because they thought there might be an interesting item all about them.

  The newscaster, Tamsin Plank, stared seriously at the camera. ‘News today of a breakout from a top security prison. The criminals, Grimstone and Jelly, managed to escape with the help of a prison visitor. One of the guards was knocked out and left for dead.’

  ‘We were too soft on him,’ snarled Grimstone.

  ‘Sssh. There’s more,’ hissed Seraphina.

  ‘In some kind of bizarre ritual the guard was smeared with chocolate, cream and morello cherries. It’s thought the criminals had planned to turn Petty Officer Fudd into a giant cake that they could sell to the public for a large sum of money. That way the only

  witness to their crime would have been eaten. Luckily, they were disturbed before they could carry out their plan. Police are now hunting the two men and one woman.’

  Turn the guard into a cake?’ muttered Seraphina. ‘I wish we’d thought of that. Oh, look!’ she suddenly squeaked. ‘It’s them! It’s them!’

  The next item was on. ‘We report now from the competition to find the “Face of the Future”. Hundreds of hopeful girls turned up to audition but were completely upstaged by a man claiming to be an Ancient Egyptian Pharaoh. His costume and dance routine drew wild applause from the audience. It is thought that the man, who says he is four and a half thousand years old, has been signed up by fashion diva Tamara Salata. His highly individual dress sense, a stunning combination of bandages and exotic make-up, coupled with his eerie dancing, looks set to break the fashion moulds and start a whole new trend. This is Tamsin Plank signing off for today and I’m going straight out to get myself some bandages.’

  Seraphina watched the performance with delight. ‘Oh my,’ she chortled. ‘Aren’t they idiots? Fancy thinking those bandages are the new fashion. They must all be mad. But, my dears, I think I have a cunning little idea.’

  ‘So do I,’ growled Grimstone. ‘We go to their house and seize the map. Then we go and find the treasure and then we go and spend loads of money. I shall buy a house as big as a castle, with battlements and everything –’

  ‘That is a castle, dear boy,’ said Seraphina.

  ‘Good. I shall buy a castle and a yacht and
a personal jet and a helicopter and a sports car.’

  ‘And I shall buy a chocolate factory,’ sighed Professor Jelly.

  ‘All right, boys, enough dreaming. There are two problems with your little plan. You seem to forget that the Lightspeeds will recognize you straight away. Secondly, you are on the run from prison. The police are after you. As soon as you show your faces you’ll be arrested. But my face is not nearly so well known. I have a much better idea.’

  So it was that next day the doorbell rang at 27 Templeton Drive and, when Ben opened it, a large lady, wearing an enormous hat and a great wodge of scarf draped round her shoulders, asked if she could speak to Sennapod. Ben invited her in and Seraphina Grimstone soon found herself sitting in the

  Lightspeeds’ front room.

  She could not help wondering if the treasure map was somewhere near by. Under the clock on the mantelpiece maybe? Stuffed between the books on the shelf? Tucked behind one of the pictures on the wall?

  ‘Charming house, absolutely delightful,’ she burbled.

  ‘You should see the bathroom,’ hinted Ben.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘It’s a mess,’ said Carrie. ‘Dad’s redecorating, again.’

  Seraphina nodded, although she had no idea what they were on about and she didn’t want to know about the bathroom anyhow. At this moment Crusher of Worms stalked into the room, tail held high.

  ‘What a beautiful cat!’ cried Seraphina. ‘So elegant. I love that earring.’

  ‘It’s Senny’s cat,’ Carrie told her. ‘We usually call him Tiddles. Where he goes, Senny follows, and vice versa. They’re inseparable.’

  Sure enough, the cat was closely followed by the Pharaoh himself. Seraphina immediately got to her feet. She knelt before him, murmuring, ‘Your Majesty, O Your Majesty, Osiris on Earth, Mighty Hunter, etc., etc.,’ and generally carrying on in a thoroughly fawning manner.